


Encore

by helena_s_renn



Category: Greta Van Fleet (Band), Music RPF
Genre: Backstage, Blow Jobs, M/M, Sanny, Sibling Incest, Twincest, Unrealistic set-up, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 07:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20597324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: More of those little moments that would never really happen.Voice a hoarse whisper, Josh panted for breath. "Done singing... tonight."





	Encore

**Author's Note:**

> The characters portrayed should not be confused with the RL people whose physical appearances these are the idealised versions of. The real GVF have nothing to do with this fictional nonsense. Not am I suggesting they're 'involved' in this manner.
> 
> I imagined this happening after whichever South American Lollapolooza it was that Josh smacked Jake on the butt shortly before the end of the show.

-2019

They'd never had a crowd like that, the entire hall bouncing up and down, united into a frenetic living field of energy. On the upturned faces, heads bobbing, hair flying, hundreds of mouths moved in unison, singing the lyrics.

The members of GVF bounded off stage again after the encore, too full of adrenaline and testosterone from their triumph to feel anything but high. They high-fived and hugged each other, practically steaming in the heat generated by the performance. "Awesome!" "Bitchin'!" "We killed it!" and some more explicit exclamations flew like invisible streamers from their mouths. Sam and Danny escaped into some dark corner to visit a different sort of exultation upon each other, Jake was sure; he pulled Josh behind a wall of crates and pointed at the floor between his twin's feet. 

"You want to slap my butt in front of the whole world, you gotta pay," he choked out, overcome by the afterglow of the stage and a need for more. No one would mistake the endorphin-induced boner he wore like a battle standard. He could still feel the ghost of a handprint on his ass. 

Somehow he'd managed to keep it down on stage, but Josh was just as hard as of five seconds ago. His red satin pants were sin incarnate to begin with and packing wood made them so tight Jake could make out the shape of the contents as if they weren't even there. "It was so worth it... and I will, but first..." 

The sudden move took Jake by surprise; his back slammed into the black-painted wood while softness and hardness both pressed urgently into him from the front. Lips, so lush and velvety, took control of his and just like that, he was under the spell of his twin's mercurial drive. There were hands all over him, tricky hands that raised in praise and lowered to stroke him front, back, everywhere, till he was panting and shivering, overtures of dominance all but forgotten.

Josh, however, had not. "Take it out. Now!" He dropped, knees to the floor and four hands now scrabbling with Jake's fastenings till one of Josh's shot upwards to pinch his nipple. Clinking belt, zzzhurrp of his zip and he was free. 

"Ah! Fuck!" Jake threaded his still-stinging fingers into Josh's sweat-drenched curls. Calluses or not, the enthusiastic performance had left his fingertips burning. 

"Open your mouth. Wide. Wider!" Like the crowd had earlier, Jake wordlessly sang the 14th to 16th bars of the intro of Highway Tune, just before the real vocals kicked in. "Sing, it Joshy... oh mama," he murmured over the continued noise of the fans calling for more.

Voice a hoarse whisper, Josh panted for breath. "Done singing... tonight." 

"Then suck it. Suck it hard, Joshy, like you love me, I know you do." 

The eyes staring up at him were his own on a calmer day, nothing ever seemed to ruffle Josh and Jake was forever a walking tornado under his stoned facade. Torn clothes, snapped strings and broken glass trailed in his wake, but here, nothing wrong could ever happen, not even if someone hoisted a camera over the crates. 

"Fuck off, Danny!" gasped Jake as he was sucked harder with that slick little tongue fast-tracking every possible nerve. "That's it, I'm, ah...!" He had to bite the side of his hand to avoid screeching. At the last second, Josh pulled off him, his mouth wide open just as Jake had asked before, hand curled around him to take over. Nothing in the universe could replace this, Jake thought: watching himself come. The sticky strings - his seed, his cream - gushing from him, flung onto Josh's cheekbones and lips. Experience taught them to avoid his eyelashes regardless of the pretty picture. Shiny-white splashes of what Josh demanded and what he gave: his love, his lust, his progeny.

It was too much to think about. Jake sagged, propped up there, eyes lidded and half-bared, shiny chest heaving for a few seconds. Material for the next album, perhaps. In very camouflaged terms. 

When he opened them, the junior terrors' foreheads and eyes bounced up and down, in and out of view over a crate while Jake got one last glimpse of Josh's streaked face. Where did they find the energy? He felt completely drained, for the moment. Also lighter, more friable. Quickly he did up his pants.

"You'd think," Josh coughed, still kneeling, "that it'd been a week and not this morning." 

Jake reached out a hand and pulled Josh to his feet. "I was excited!" 

"Ooooh," intoned Danny, "he was excited."

Sam's voice, disembodied, chirped, "We noticed."

The question foremost in Jake's mind as his brain started to function again was 'what about Josh?' Time was a factor they could not ignore. But... privacy. "Alright, you two little fuckers, gimme the camera."

Danny came around the end of the row of black boxes to tower over Jake. "Little?" 

Beside him, Sam laughed. "Not even." He'd gathered his hair into a man-bun and his cheeks were ruddy. Jake knew what that meant. 

"Get lost, I gotta help a brother out." Slinging an arm around Josh's neck, Jake ran a hand down his smooth chest, his abs, lower. Warm, sweat-damp skin, something alive throbbing under too many layers. "Fuck, Josh, get your dick out!" he demanded. Not that he was watching, but he noticed Sam and Danny turn away as one and leave them. 

T-minus-ten. Nine. Jake fell to his knees. Not for a matching facial but to receive his dose, of a hand in his hair and his jaws open just enough, lips curled around his teeth. He looked up, reading the signs over his brother's spasms; Josh was seeing what he'd seen, in reverse. His, mine, ours. Us. A mouthful. Swallowed. And done. 

Sagging where he stood, Josh was so wrung out that Jake had to do the tucking and zipping for him. Hydration, H2O not this alkaline shot, was the immediate need now. 

Their time was up. It was a miracle they'd held time still to get three or four minutes to themselves. Jake yanked out a silver hair from amid the sable. That's the price you pay, and he did so gladly. 

Industry people, fans, and wanna-bes converged around them, and they let themselves be congratulated and pumped up all over again. The night was only beginning. 

Fin.


End file.
